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“I just need to drop these off in recovery,” I answered, waving the orders in front of him.
“I’ll wait for you outside of the locker rooms,” he said.
Sometimes, when it was late, he walked me out so I didn’t have to go alone. It was after seven, so it was already dark out. The sun probably set around five, but we wouldn’t know it. We’d been in this windowless space for over twelve hours today.
I walked slowly down the empty hallway and into the quiet recovery room. Only two nurses remained. They were working the late shift to take care of our patient until he was awake enough to go home later tonight. We were the last case of the day.
I talked with the nurses for a while, checked on the patient, and then left. I changed into a clean pair of scrubs, too tired to put on street clothes. Plus, I planned on going straight home toeat, shower, and climb into bed, so I didn’t care how I looked. I removed my surgical cap and finger-combed my hair out, piling it on top of my head in a messy bun. Then, I grabbed my bag and left the space.
As promised, Dr. Cooper was standing across from the women’s locker room. He thumbed through his phone and looked up when the door swung open.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready,” I said. “I’m tired.”
We walked down the hall and paused at the end while waiting for the elevator to arrive. We worked in a private orthopedic surgical facility, so we really were among the last people here tonight.
“Are you hungry?” he asked me.
“Starving,” I admitted.
We walked inside the elevator, and I pushed the button for the lower floor before I leaned against the wall.
“Let’s go to Roosevelt’s,” he said, surprising me. He recognized the stunned expression on my face because he kept explaining. “We worked hard today; we deserve a nice meal. And it’s almost Christmas. I called Ellen and told her. She’s okay with it.”
Ellen. His wife.
“Okay,” I agreed, excited.
Roosevelt’s was a luxurious and expensive steak house. The steaks alone cost about fifty bucks apiece. I had only been once or twice before.
“But I’m wearing scrubs,” I said with a frown, glancing down at my attire.
“So?” he said. “I am too. It doesn’t matter.”
“Okay.”
We separated in the parking lot. He climbed into his Range Rover. I climbed into my Toyota. And I drove the short distance to meet him at the restaurant.
We walked into the place together. It was mostly full, but there were a few tables open. Dr. Cooper was right; the staff didn’t bat an eye at the way we were dressed. I assumed they knew a surgeon was in their midst, and doctors typically had deep pockets.
We sat at a table for two that was a distance from the other diners, giving us the semblance of privacy. The atmosphere was cozy, almost romantic. The lights were dimmed, and candles flickered on the tablecloths. Dr. Cooper encouraged me to order anything that I wanted. He said he was treating me tonight. When he ordered a beer, I ordered a glass of wine. And a few minutes later, we selected our food.
I felt grown-up—being here, at a fancy dinner, with one of the most well-respected surgeons in the city. I felt like a woman having a meal with an important man, and I liked it. The wine on my empty stomach lowered my inhibitions quickly, and my nerves disappeared with each sip. I felt the flush of alcohol on my cheeks.
He scolded me when I called him Dr. Cooper, insisting I call him Ron, especially outside of work. I was taken back when he looked angry about it. I’d only meant it as a sign of respect, but I guessed he didn’t like the formality in a social setting. Or maybe he was simply bringing down another one of those boundaries that I didn’t realize had kept disappearing one by one.
We didn’t talk about work. We talked about anything but. He never mentioned his wife. He spoke about his kids, but even kept them at a distance in the conversation. It was like he wanted to separate us from his family. He started to confide in me. He wasn’t entirely satisfied with his world. He wanted more from his life.
Black and white started to blend into a faded gray in that beautiful, fancy restaurant over an expensive meal, but really, the colors had started to blur long before that. The uncertainty had been born from a single glance. And that evening, his stares began to linger. I had a second glass of wine. Those longing looks from across a candlelit table began to cross the professional line between a boss and his hired help. He wasn’t looking at me like his employee. He was a powerful man, looking at a woman he thought was attractive while buying her dinner. He was wooing me. And I didn’t see it at the time … but it was working.
Another boundary was erased that night. We became more than just coworkers. We became friends. Close friends. The confessions began, things no one else knew, and they didn’t stop after that. There was an intimacy to our meal, and our conversation felt dangerous at times. But the danger was accompanied by excitement.
After that night, I couldn’t pinpoint exactly how I felt. It was hard to explain to others. So, I didn’t try to explain it. I kept it to myself. And our interactions became secretive. And that secrecy grew dirtier and more illicit, the closer we grew and the more time we spent together alone.
One by one, lines were being crossed.
Eventually, I didn’t know where those lines should be anymore.
